answers. He told us that we had been chosen, that our struggles all these years had not been in vain. He told us there were trials yet ahead, and that if we saw them through, we would be rewarded. We would all be rewarded.
“And then the sick became sicker, and the young-dozens of them-fell to the plague you saw at the lake. We came to Muqallad begging for his help, but he merely said that it was the first of many steps. He said those children had been chosen by the fates themselves, that they were now only one step from Adhiya, one step from vashaqiram. All we needed to do was give them to the fire, as they clearly wished.”
Nikandr shook his head. “The fire in Siafyan. It wasn’t meant to rid you of the wasting, was it?”
Bersuq was having trouble meeting Nikandr’s gaze. “It was done in preparation for a greater ritual, one that involves the children. Muqallad was pleased when it was done, but I”-he glanced toward the open doorway and lowered his voice-“I was sickened. How we could have…” He looked up to Nikandr, his eyes regaining some of their fierceness. “It is why you must hurry, son of Iaros. If you can heal them, then it will be clear to all that Muqallad was lying. They will believe me then, or enough will that the others won’t matter, and Muqallad will be cast aside.”
Above, from somewhere outside, came the soft fluttering of wings. Nikandr knew who it was immediately; he could feel her through the soulstone that lay against his chest.
“Muqallad will not take kindly to being cast aside.”
“If the fates will his vengeance against us, then it will be so, but I will not grant him children if his words are proven lies.” He held Soroush’s knife out, hilt first, until Nikandr took it. Then he raised his eyebrows as the sound of beating wings came again. “Speak with your Matra. Have her help if she would. You have one more day.”
After retrieving his ledger, Bersuq strode toward the tunnel.
“I need more time,” Nikandr said.
Bersuq stopped at the entrance to the room and spoke without turning. “I don’t have it to give. In one more day, perhaps two, Thabash will return.”
“ You lead the Maharraht.”
“ Neh, son of Iaros, I do not. That mantle belongs to Muqallad now. But with your help, that may all change.”
And with that he left.
As his footsteps receded, a rook hopped down to a natural stone ledge above him. It surveyed the room and then winged down to land on the floor near Nikandr’s feet. It cawed and pecked, and Nikandr worried over the sound, but when the rook shivered and flapped its wings, he realized that Atiana would have already searched the upper reaches of the village for prying ears.
“ Privyet, Atiana,” Nikandr said.
“ Privyet.”
The rook cawed and was silent for a time, and Nikandr wondered whether she was giving him time to speak.
“Atiana, I pray you, forgive my words on-”
“I haven’t come to discuss our past, Nikandr. I’ve come bearing news of Galahesh. News you should know.”
“But Atiana-”
The rook spread its wings, cawing fiercely, over and over again. The feathers shivered, as if from barely contained rage.
Nikandr sighed, crossing his arms over his chest. “Go on.”
“Arvaneh is not who we thought. She is none other than Sariya.”
Nikandr could only stare as a deep pit opened up inside him. Muqallad here, and Sariya on Galahesh.
“She’s pulling many strings, Nikandr. It was she that built the Spar, and now I’ve found a spire to the north of the straits.”
“To what purpose?”
“I don’t yet know. It’s all happening so quickly. But know this… We need you. You must leave Rafsuhan. Take to the winds and come home. Khalakovo must be prepared.”
“Would that I could, Atiana, but I can’t. I’m needed here.”
“You’re needed by the Grand Duchy.”
“Which is the exact reason I’m staying. This is too important to set aside.”
“They are Maharraht.” Even through the voice of the rook Nikandr could hear her disgust. He tried to explain. He told her of the children. He told her of Rahid and the Hratha and Muqallad’s manipulation. He told her of Soroush and Bersuq and their confessions to him. But nothing would sway her. “All of that means little if Hakan is preparing to sweep down on Vostroma when morning breaks.”
“He cannot. The straits stand before him.”
“Don’t be so sure. I know not what the spire is for, but I suspect… I fear that I’ve given Sariya more than I should have.”
“What could you have given her?”
“One of the times I spied upon her, I thought she wasn’t there, but I believe now that she was watching me, studying how I manipulate the currents of the aether.”
Nikandr worked it through in his mind. “And if she can learn to do the same…”
“She can control the storm that sits above the straits. To allow ships, for the first time, to fly over them. To give Hakan what he and the centuries of Kamarisi before him dearly wished they could have-a clear path to the islands.”
The rain outside fell harder. The water spilling into the channels was quickening. Thunder rang as he paced along the room, no longer caring if he stepped upon the channels.
“Have you told your mother?”
“Of course, but they are ill prepared. Three attacks from the south were orchestrated over the past week alone, and Father fears more. Ships are being brought in to help, but we are weak, Nikandr. You know this. Father will not ask it, but it would do him good to see you commanding a wing of ships. Even Hakan would pause if he knew you were near.” The rook arched its neck, then ducked low and tapped the stone softly with its beak, an act of supplication. “Come home, Nischka. Leave Rafsuhan behind. Let them quarrel amongst themselves. Let them weaken while we prepare for the coming storm.”
“Don’t you understand? This is part of that storm. We cannot ignore it, Atiana.”
“ I can. And you can, too.”
Nikandr paused, knowing the words he was about to say would drive a wedge between them-even more than their argument had, more than her pending marriage had-and yet he said them anyway. “ Nyet, I cannot.”
He expected the rook to caw, to flap around the room as Atiana lost control as her emotions flew high. It did not, however. What it did do was much more disturbing. It stood completely still, one eye trained upon him, blinking once, twice, as thunder shook the air outside the chamber.
“You are needed, Khalakovo.”
Nikandr shivered at those words.
“I’m needed here.”
After one more brief pause, the rook flapped up to the ledge where Soroush’s musket lay, and then was gone in a rush of wings through the driving rain.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
W ith three streltsi walking ahead and another three behind, Atiana and Ishkyna strode among the stalls of the bazaar. Irkadiy was leading the guardsmen. He watched Atiana closely-making her feel overprotected-and yet it did little to silence her fears of being out in the open among so many in so foreign a place.
She’d finished speaking with Nikandr only that morning, and her anger was still high. But really, she should have expected it. He’d been invested in this-the rifts and the healing of those afflicted by the wasting-for so long he’d become blinded by it. He thought that what he needed to do to protect his homeland was to solve the riddle of
